


Blacker Than Black

by meradorm



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Gen, I'm not saying any of this is necessarily connected, but that it would be cool if it was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:05:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8888452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meradorm/pseuds/meradorm
Summary: Lorian rides out to Carthus to do battle with the demon prince. Meanwhile, Lothric privately comes to a conclusion. Written for Yuletide fic exchange 2016.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wilde_Shade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wilde_Shade/gifts).



Something bothered Lorian about seeing Lothric paint, although he couldn't put his finger on what it was. It seemed somehow improper for a son of the royal family, descendant of gods, to go around creating worlds. Unnatural might have been the better word.

Yet Lorian was happy to see his brother doing something with his time. Nothing seemed to interest Lothric much, at least not for very long, but as time passed he seemed to be becoming an adept artist. At the moment he was moving paint around in a loose circle, making what appeared to Lorian to be some kind of bruise.

Lorian, who was practical-minded and not long on creativity, searched for something to say about it.

"Are you painting a shadow?" he asked.

Lothric lowered his paintbrush and folded his thin hands in his lap. He lifted his face and looked up at the canvas as if seeing something in it for the first time.

"It's not black," he said. "It doesn't look right, proper black. It's all dark, wet blue."

He touched the paintbrush to the tip of his tongue and gave Lorian an odd, blank-eyed look, as if staring far off into the distance. Or as if looking deep inward. It occurred to Lorian just then that the expressions on a person's face when doing either were the same.

Then Lorian collected himself.

"Don't do that! It's filthy. Come, don't make me slap your hand. We're not children." (At least, _I'm_ not, Lorian stopped himself from adding.)

Lothric wet his lips.

"Forgive me, dear brother." (Tone slightly mocking.) He started painting again, creaking forward in his seat and peering at the canvas. "Father tells me you're leaving for Carthus."

He still talks to you? Lorian wanted to ask, though he knew it would touch a nerve and thought better of it.

"He's left the decisions regarding Wolnir up to me," he explained, instead. "He says it'll be good for me." Lorian didn't like speaking of his future rule with his brother - _after your frail spirit is inevitably consumed by the Fire and the kingdom falls to me_ \- and moved smoothly to "Father must not consider him a threat."

"Or he has something bigger on his mind. Has Father seemed distracted lately, do you think?"

"No more than usual, I suppose. I haven't noticed."

"And that's why I attend all those diplomatic functions with you, so I can notice the things you haven't," said Lothric, a bit primly.

If Lorian was one for smiling he would have done it then.

"So. What did Prince Lorian tell Wolnir, then?" Lothric asks.

"That we'd aid him against the last of the demons. As requested."

Lothric stopped painting for good this time, dropping the brush into a glass. The water inside bloomed into an oceanic grey.

"There aren't many of them left, demons. I have yet to make myself worthy of being the guardian of a Lord of Cinder," Lorian said, which Lothric, who had been raised with Lorian's devotion as a given, regarded as conversational. "Fighting them to the last would be a great honor."

"All this according to the wishes of our distant forbear," said Lothric, with a thoughtful expression. (It made Lorian wonder how long it had taken his brother to realize what he just had, about the way people look sometimes. "Surely the Lord of Sunlight will smile upon this."

Lorian wasn't naturally perceptive, but he knew Lothric and his roundabout way of speaking well.

"But _you_ don't approve."

"It will distinguish you among the annals of his heirs," said Lothric, simply.

Lorian got the unpleasant feeling that he was going to find out exactly what Lothric meant by this conversation much later, that it was something he was going to have to learn from experience, and that whatever it was going to be, he wouldn't like it.

Lothric corrected a curve on the painted circle with a finger. "I don't have strong feelings on the matter, as you do," says Lothric. Lorian didn't know if he meant aiding Carthus or honoring Gwyn. "That and I'm worried about my brother," Lothric continued. "The Carthus bandits that make up his army have had no trouble conquering kingdoms before. Either they're leading you into a trap or the demons are a truly formidable foe."

"I'm not going alone, and Wolnir's messengers never asked me to. All reports from the borderlands tell us that they really are having trouble in the north." Lorian went on to add, "It's their fighting style, the knights of Carthus. Blades fragile, thin. Thin as paper. A thousand cuts to the flesh, and then..." Lorian hesitates. The thought of falling under those blades gave him some pause, once, as a callow youth, just beginning to train as a knight. He wasn't looking forward to going among them. No. "But the hide of a demon is born of fire and stone. The military of Carthus doesn't have suitable weapons and they're not trained to use them, anyway. And they can't import them. In the territories they conquer they disband the local military and melt the armory down. Out of some kind of principle." ("It makes a statement, I suppose," Lothric commented, listening.) "And none of the lords are friendly with Wolnir because of what he's done to those around them."

"Except Lothric, now."

"We have a common enemy."

"And yet." His brother rubbed his hands on a paint-stained rag, as if dismissing the conversation, businesslike. (A strange thing to see a godling do, perhaps.) "Don't forget that it's your crown next, no matter what Wolnir says today. Let this pact buy you time."

Lorian stopped at the door.

"Lothric," he began. "Have you ever been speaking to someone, and you realized that the look on their face is the same as ..." He was curious all of a sudden, if Lothric had ever had that thought, and about whom, and when. He couldn't find the right way to put it. He had never been quite sure how to speak to his brother. Something about speaking with him almost degraded their relationship. He wished at times that he could somehow commune with him in silence.

"The same as...?" Lothric prompted.

"Never mind."

Lothric let the failed thought go with a graceful nod.

Lorian left the room feeling exhilarated, yet energized in a way he found hard to describe. This was as it always was whenever he spoke to his brother. He left the castle and took the long, open path down the steps to the courtyard. Pilgrims were moving along the high wall, and had been for some time. At first a few, and nowadays more and more. _All things in Lothric moved towards him._

 

Soon, Lorian vowed, he would be strong enough to help him.


	2. Chapter 2

 

It was so long ago now, and he was much too young, but Lorian believed, at times, that he could remember the birth of his brother. The Priestess told him a little about it, long after. Lorian must have had a talent for picturing such things in his mind's eye.

 

  
_He's almost human_ , someone cried. 

 

Is the dark sign upon him?

Murmured conversation, people moving back and forth. The prince was born late, some of the candles must have guttered out.

 

The royal family had been degraded, although no one ever spoke of it. The dregs of humanity had crept inside their bloodline. Perhaps that was why their brother, Gwyndolin, never communicated with the house of Lothric, and hadn't for more a generation or two. 

 

"It's almost a shame, isn't it," Lothric had told him once. "It's wonderful to go about the wall in the sunlight..." (Far below, spring.) "But something's been lost, having flesh to feel it with. We're not gods."

 

It had been the Priestess who had wrapped him in prayer robes. It was a statement of some kind, though an ambiguous one. Should he be a god, he would be strengthened by ancient devotion. Should he be a lesser descendent, he could at least be reverent. Surely it was men who linked the Flame.

 

Some said (this is how Prince Lothric put it, though Lorian had the feeling that the Scholar had been whispering to him) that Lord Gwyn had never really been a god at all - not a proper one. Not much worse than you are, brother, Lothric told him. In that case something had been lost in word and deed. A humanity had slipped in.

 

Lorian thought of this moving about his troops. Some barely even looked at him. Tall he was of stature and imposing was his armor, but he had gone among them before. They had a different kind of respect for him - one, Lorian thought, that was much more suited for commanding an army. 

 

They did love him, with a fierce and immediate devotion, born of earth and flame, but his elusive brother was who they bowed towards.

 

As it should be.

 

("A god should be something you can barely get your head around," said Lothric once, with a laugh, showing uncharacterstic artlessness. He had a tendency to underscore things with his disposition. Not in a way that ever seemed unnatural to him, put-upon, which Lorian found fascinating.)

 

A few people were praying for - or to - the royal family. Lorian gave them a wide berth, so as not to disturb their peace. The company Lorian had took with him (a division calculated to neither offend Wolnir nor send the message that Lorian was there to join his whole army to him rather than see the last of the demons as a personal mission) had crossed through Farron and was bordering the edges of Carthus' territory. Soon they'd be met with an envoy from Wolnir. In the meantime, people were taking the time to talk, pray, and scrape the swamp-mud off their armor.

 

"Careful there. That'll kill you proper," a soldier said to another as Lorian moved by.

 

"Prince Lorian's army fights with poison blades tonight! Ha!"

 

Getting past the legionnaires had been a harrowing experience. They knew they were coming, Lorian had negotiated for their passage long in advance, but still they gathered on a far hill and watched them. They had gathered towards the boundaries of Farron in search of the taint of the Abyss. Should they have seen even a hint of it, they would have descended upon Lorian's army like a pack of wolves. Lorian thought of bones picked clean by carrion-birds. Sun-bleached and white.

 

One by one, the Watchers turned away. Lorian realized the tension he had been holding in his shoulders. 

 

The expanse that faced them was considerable. The Smouldering Lake was far in the distance, and the great heat it let out even miles from Farron dried out the swamp at the far reaches, leaving broiled, black, earthless hills, bare except for stone archtrees. The people of Carthus were beginning to build there. They had come from the deserts, and compensated for the harsh climate and violent sandstorms through building extensively underground. Or so Lorian had been taught. He had never seen any of the people of Carthus in person, and found them to be mostly tall, dark-skinned, handsome people beneath all the cloth.

 

("Not quite as tall as you, brother," he imagined Lothric saying.)

 

Lorian leaned in towards his squire.

 

"Who's that in the distance?" he asked. "Where are the forward scouts?"

 

Just then the knight-captain of the forward guard approached him and knelt.

 

"Rise," said Lorian quickly. (It was customary in these conditions to enter a half-kneel with the expectation that your lord and commander would stop you from going down all the way and getting muck in the chinks in your armor. Or throw you off-balance on unstable ground. It occurred to Lorian just then why the legionnaires of Farron didn't hail each other with a bend of the knee as he was standing in the mud.) "Report, please."

 

The knight-captain clambered to her feet and shook out a short scrap of parchment with a grunt. "Wolnir has seen your army coming and is pleased with your offering."

 

(Lorian felt a spate of distaste at the phrasing.)

 

"He's cleared you to move through Carthus and join his army at the Lake."

 

Lorian tried to figure out how to interpret this. Either things down at the lake of fire were so desperate that he couldn't spare a few men for an envoy, or Wolnir wanted to send the message that he considered Lorian's knights inconsequential, or...

 

"Hold, captain. Someone's moving towards us. It's not Wolnir?"

 

The captain hesitated. "There are a few people who wish to join our campaign." She nodded behind him, and Lorian turned.

 

"Hail!" she shouted.

 

They had strode across the flats in the blink of an eye, and when Lorian got a closer look at them, he understood why. 

 

The captain was a bit out of her element, here. She struggled to figure out how to introduce them. "I present to you Lord Yhorm, son of Yhorm, and..."

 

"Siegward! Of Catarina!" shouted a little silver blot on the giant's shoulder, with a wave.

 

"And a captive," the captain finished.

 

They were leading - or being led - by a sorry-looking demon. Lorian peered at its rocky, flameless flesh.

 

"I'm...not sure where to begin," Lorian said. "Lord Yhorm! Did you capture this wretch?"

 

Strangely, Yhorm looked to the demon. Its mouth yawned, sending flakes of white, cracked mud to the wet earth.

 

"She claims to be a stray demon," Siegward shouted, from Yhorm's shoulder. Lorian found everything about this sentence difficult to process. 

 

"A stray demon?" Lorian repeated. Siegward had said this as if the phrase meant something. Some tradition of the demons, perhaps?

 

Yhorm let Siegward walk into his hand, and lowered him down in front of Lorian. 

 

"Ah! Much easier to talk down here, where I can get a closer look at you!" The man from Catarina cleared his throat and straightened his back. "The young prince of Lothric, are you? And a destined Lord of Cinder! It's an honor." 

 

"The pleasure is all mine," said Lorian, dazed.

 

Siegward laughed loudly. "And such manners, too! Listen, the flame has gone right out of her...she's pledged herself to Lothric. Seems to know she's of a dying breed."

 

"To my kingdom...? And Lord Yhorm?" Lorian asked, glancing up.

 

" _I have come as you have_ ," said Yhorm, simply. His voice rumbled through the gulf of air between them. " _To contend with my ancestors. To clear my name._ "

 

"Yhorm too believes that the battles that shall be fought here will lead to many great and noble - "

 

Lorian stopped listening. He was suddenly aware of the fact that they had drawn a crowd.

 

"He's a giant," someone behind him muttered. "He can't want anything other than to plunder. The demons have treasures in their kingdom, you know..."

 

The demons have treasures? (Well, Lorian conceded, half a minute ago he didn't even know they had girls.)

 

Lorian shook himself awake. "You'll not speak about our ally that way, soldier," he barked. "Lord Yhorm is to be treated with the utmost respect while among our number. Lord Yhorm, I shall be pleased to have your aid."

 

Yhorm gave Lorian a nod, glacial in speed.

 

"As for myself," said Siegward, "I heard tell of a secret passage around these parts -  one that leads to the very heart of the Smouldering Lake! I, Siegward of Catarina, shall go as your forward-man! We'll meet again - in the very heart of battle." He gave a hearty chuckle. "Now, where was it supposed to be...?"

 

As the knight turned to go he dropped something into the mire. Lorian gestured to his captain to pick it up. She passed it up to the prince. A ring?

 

"My good knight..." he called. 

 

"Hmm... _Hmmm_..."

 

Then somehow, suddenly, the knight of Catarina was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Lorian dreamt that night of barefoot Gertrude, their sister. Whirling and turning down the stairways of their castle. The impression of falling snow. Perhaps light. Perhaps feathers. 

I saw an angel, she told the Priestess. 

Oh? And how did it appear?

A thick body. Wide teeth. And wings. 

Lorian woke up in a cold sweat.

A sortie had broken off from the demon kingdom to meet them that day. Lorian had had his first taste of holy combat - and his first taste of real terror. The first time he struck a demon, the blade clanged off. Lorian realized with some horror that all of the time he had spent training with his knights he had been pulling his attacks. There were none in Lothric who could hold against him, otherwise. 

He slammed into his opponent with redoubled strength and found demon's flesh. The give was unlike anything Lorian had ever felt.

They won, but not as easily as Lorian would have liked. They piled the bodies up in the corners and moved on.

The army was beginning to descend. Lorian found this to be a relief. He had found out from one of the people of Carthus, a leader of some sort called Fateh, that they were building catacombs to house their war dead (of which they had plenty, and from the looks of it, were expecting much more). Lorian had no taste for the rows of skulls and vases of skeletons that had been lining the underground halls (and he liked bending down to walk through doorways even less). He was surprised to discover, however, that they had passed Carthus and were in the place were the catacombs connected with the conquered city. Lorian hadn't expected engineering this sophisticated. The Carthus warriors told him that long ago their ancestors had learned a bit of their subterranean architecture from the demons. There was a similarity in style, Lorian saw.

The underground was beginning to open up. They were getting closer to the heart of the kingdom. 

Lorian found a little bit of vindication in this. The lesser demons are smaller and scurry in the tunnels like rats, the greater demons are of massive size - it's a sorry kind of society that creates a hierarchy that way. They were indeed primitive and foul, as Father Gwyn had once taught.

And yet something about that rung false.

Lorian found himself wandering awake instead of resting for the battle. He turned the ring on his finger to the right and then the left. What was that scrap on the ground? Claw marks of some sort on it. Ugly thing. He pushed it around with his foot, then picked it up to look at it closer.

"It's a tome of pyromancy," said a voice behind him.

Lorian started. "I didn't know you could talk," he said to the stray demon.

"I didn't know you could, either."

Lorian felt as if he should take issue with her - its - tone, but for some reason he didn't, and let the matter pass.

"A tome of pyromancy," he echoed. He peered at it. Yes, this was writing. Similar to the writing on the ring. He had taken it for scuff marks. "This is archtree stonebark. You write on this?"

"Yes."

Lorian said nothing.

"That wasn't a military sortie," the stray demon told him. "We live down here."

Lorian held his breath for a moment. "...I see."

The stray demon glanced to the side, at the tome. It was still in Lorian's hands.

"Do you want me to teach you how to read it?"

Lorian dropped the tome to the ground in disgust. "Teach me, a lord, pyromancy?! Are you mad? Chaos magic is vile."

"So be it," said the stray demon.

Lorian sat down on the floor with a sigh. "You're trying to corrupt me, aren't you? Yhorm told me you wanted to negotiate, to bring some of your people above ground. So that at least some of you may live."

"Some or one."

"What a selfish way to think about it."

"A witness should live. Until the flame rises again." The demon's mouth stretched. Lorian thought it might have been a smile. "I'm an old stray demon," she told the prince. "Sooner or later, I'll have the chance to prove my loyalty to you." The demon tapped her club thoughtfully against the rock. "Yes, I do think there's something in there worth saving."

A grinding sound, low and vibrational. Lorian decided to consider it laughter.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Lorian dreamt that night of barefoot Gertrude, their sister. Whirling and turning down the stairways of their castle. The impression of falling snow. Perhaps light. Perhaps feathers.  

 

  
_I saw an angel,_ she told Emma, the Priestess. 

 

_Oh? And how did it appear?_

_A thick body. Wide teeth. And wings._

Lorian woke up in a cold sweat.

 

A sortie had broken off from the demon kingdom to meet them that day. Lorian had had his first taste of holy combat - and his first taste of real terror. The first time he struck a demon, the blade clanged off. Lorian realized with some horror that all of the time he had spent training with his knights he had been pulling his attacks. There were none in Lothric who could hold against him, otherwise. 

 

He slammed into his opponent with redoubled strength and found demon's flesh. The give was unlike anything Lorian had ever felt.

 

They won, but not as easily as Lorian would have liked. They piled the bodies up in the corners and moved on.

 

The army was beginning to descend. Lorian found this to be a relief. He had found out from one of the people of Carthus, a leader of some sort called Fateh, that they were building catacombs to house their war dead (of which they had plenty, and from the looks of it, were expecting much more). Lorian had no taste for the rows of skulls and vases of skeletons that had been lining the underground halls (and he liked bending down to walk through doorways even less). He was surprised to discover, however, that they had passed Carthus and were in the place were the catacombs connected with the conquered city. Lorian hadn't expected engineering this sophisticated. The Carthus warriors told him that long ago their ancestors had learned a bit of their subterranean architecture from the demons. There was a similarity in style, Lorian saw.

 

The underground was beginning to open up. They were getting closer to the heart of the kingdom. 

 

Lorian found a little bit of vindication in this. The lesser demons are smaller and scurry in the tunnels like rats, the greater demons are of massive size - it's a sorry kind of society that creates a hierarchy that way. They were indeed primitive and foul, as Father Gwyn had once taught.

 

And yet something about that rung false.

 

Lorian found himself wandering awake instead of resting for the battle. He turned the ring on his finger to the right and then the left. What was that scrap on the ground? Claw marks of some sort on it. Ugly thing. He pushed it around with his foot, then picked it up to look at it closer.

 

"It's a tome of pyromancy," said a voice behind him.

 

Lorian started. "I didn't know you could talk," he said to the stray demon.

 

"I didn't know _you_ could, either."

 

Lorian felt as if he should take issue with her - its - tone, but for some reason he didn't, and let the matter pass.

 

"A tome of pyromancy," he echoed. He peered at it. Yes, this was writing. Similar to the writing on the ring. He had taken it for scuff marks. "This is archtree stonebark. You write on this?"

 

"Yes."

 

Lorian said nothing.

 

"That wasn't a military sortie," the stray demon told him. "We live down here."

 

Lorian held his breath for a moment. "...I see."

 

The stray demon glanced to the side, at the tome. It was still in Lorian's hands.

 

"Do you want me to teach you how to read it?"

 

Lorian dropped the tome to the ground in disgust. "Teach me, a lord, pyromancy?! Are you mad? Chaos magic is vile."

 

"So be it," said the stray demon.

 

Lorian sat down on the floor with a sigh. "You're trying to corrupt me, aren't you? Yhorm told me you wanted to negotiate, to bring some of your people above ground. So that at least some of you may live."

 

"Some or one."

 

"What a selfish way to think about it."

 

"A witness should live. Until the flame rises again." The demon's mouth stretched. Lorian thought it might have been a smile. "I'm an _old_ stray demon," she told the prince. "Sooner or later, I'll have the chance to prove my loyalty to you." The demon tapped her club thoughtfully against the rock. "Yes, I do think there's something in there worth saving."

 

A grinding sound, low and vibrational. Lorian decided to consider it laughter. 

 

____

_We must press onward, regardless._

 

Yhorm said this to him. The roads had grown too narrow. He had taken leave with the demon prisoner, for the time being. Yhorm told Lorian he would meet with him and his black knights again shortly. Perhaps the knight of Catarina was right about that alternate route.

 

In the meantime, Lorian and his entourage took the winding path down to the kingdom. They were hundreds of feet above, and Lorian felt his eyes drifting towards the doors far below, barely visible through the hot haze.

 

Just then Fateh, one of the Carthus warriors, approached Lorian. Lorian wasn't sure if he was a native of Carthus or a sellsword, but he had become something of a representative, perhaps. The man had along with a few other warriors been accompanying him since the catacombs. Lorian didn't know his title - he didn't insist on anything fancier than his given name - but Lorian had come to rely on him. He had a hard, narrow face and piercing eyes, but he was a plainspoken individual and Lorian felt he had a good heart.

 

Fateh pulled a length of dusty cloth away from his mouth. "Prince Lorian," he began. "Doesn't something seem off about this to you?"

 

"Speak your mind."

 

"The resistance has thinned out considerably. As if something's cleared them out. You'd expect there to be demons, or something, back on the rope bridge we just crossed. We're almost to the lake and they're all - "

 

Then Fateh's eyes widened. 

 

"Damn it. Did you feel that?"

 

"I'm sorry?"

 

"Hold, my lord!" Fateh tensed, listening. 

 

Lorian was about to speak again when he felt the earth shake under his feet. 

 

Fateh clenched his teeth. "Take this!" He pushed a tin into Lorian's hands. Lorian popped it open. It had an odd, dark herbal smell.

 

"Are those insects?"

 

"Just eat the bloody things!" (My lord, he added, as punctuation.) "I'll not have you die on my watch."

 

Lorian felt his hair rise on the back of his neck. There was the smell of ozone in the air. Was that static electricity?

 

"It's followed us all the way here! We don't have many of the pellets left. It can smell it on us when we take enough, but now - " Fateh turned to his people and started shouting orders. Lorian craned his neck, looking down at the lake.

 

"Lord Yhorm!" Fateh called. "Get off of the sand!"

 

 Yhorm was moving with determination towards the rock wall. Before Lorian's eyes, something nearly as massive as the giant burst out of the sand. The air crackled. Yhorm swung a massive hand, pushing the spiral of its body away from him - and then fell to one knee. Lightening sparked across Yhorm's body. Yhorm knelt still, then heaved himself to his feet as the worm burrowed back underground. Lorian's eyes darted over the sand, trying to figure out where it would resurface. The giant looked dazed.

 

Fateh wet his lips. "Yhorm speaks to us often. Knows we feared the worm. He's drawing it away from us. He might - "

 

Then there was a great crack, something like the splitting of an oak tree in a windstorm, and the whistle of a projectile, and a crossbow bolt the size of a pillar hit the sand next to Yhorm. Even from his vantage point on the mountain path Lorian could hear machinery working. There was a ballista hidden in the mountains, and it was reloading. Yhorm lifted his greatshield, and the second bow slammed into him, pushing Yhorm back, leaving streaks of disrupted sand where his feet dragged across the dirt. Yhorm held steady, but only just. 

 

"He can't fight both of them at once!" Lorian cried.

 

"Then we've got to help him." 

 

Lorian and Fateh exchanged looks. Then Lorian took off running up the path, and Fateh, back down. Surely they'd find the right corridor if they split up.

 

Lorian turned a corner and was met by a smoking roar. He soaked up the fire. Couldn't be helped. Though his skin was crackling, and he could smell ash, he cut down the demon without bothering to slow. Two others stormed out to meet him. Had the demons built this monstrosity? he thought. He felt his blade sink into their flesh with satisfaction - if he met resistance, he must be going the right way.

 

There. He saw it. Gears. Pulleys. Moving parts. Lorian stopped, panting, and turned behind him to Yhorm. The giant lowered his shield and, it seemed, caught Lorian's eye. The Carthus warriors cried out.

 

Then the giant glanced up, caught a bolt out of midair, and broke it over his knee. 

 

Lorian laughed in surprise. He couldn't hope for that twice, though. He rushed inside the structure, found a lever, and pushed.

 

Silence.

 

Lorian stepped out to where he could see into the cavern. Yhorm was moving on to safe ground. The worm seemed uninterested in a force mighty enough to stop the ballista, perhaps, and for the moment it was gone. 

 

Yhorm strode across the sands to Lorian. 

 

"Lord Yhorm!" Lorian called. "You've done well."

 

  
_"Thank you,"_ said Yhorm.

 

"The race of man," said Lorian, "and my ancestors in Anor Londo once imprisoned the giants. You fought for your freedom, and we feared and hated you."

 

" _Yes_ ," said Yhorm.

 

"Well," said Lorian, taking off his helmet, pushing a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, "It's a good thing those days are over, isn't it?"

 

Yhorm opened a palm to Lorian. It took Lorian a moment to understand that he was supposed to step into it, not shake it. Yhorm lowered him to the ground. Lorian looked past him to the door into the heart of the kingdom.

 

" _Go on_ ," Yhorm told him, " _While the battle is still in your heart._ "

 

Lorian saw faces appear at the ridges, both the blades of Carthus and his own black knights. A chant started up. They were calling his name.

 

Lorian opened the doors and walked through, alone. 


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing Prince Lorian was aware of was the heat. It was like - and just then he decided not to remember being held to his mother's bosom as a child. Not now.

It was a living heat. Hot like flesh and not fire. Lava still guttered and spew in some places, and yet Lorian could see the lakes and the rivers where it had cooled down, slowed to rock.

He thought, somehow, of his brother, who was almost human. The life in him. 

The battle was ugly, long, and wordless. Lorian wasn't even sure if the thing he faced - the demon prince - could speak. 

Perhaps he thought that Lorian couldn't. 

Lorian feinted to the right, ducked under a swing, and landed a dirty blow to the prince's knee. When it wavered, Lorian gave it a solid kick. He pushed it over into the hot, half-hardened basalt, and he plunged his sword into its chest.

The archtrees around him seemed to shudder. The flow of lava slowed, as if waiting, to a halt.

Lorian pulled his sword from the demon prince's chest. He felt something surge through his heart.

When the smoke cleared the world was ash. In the cool air, condensation began to fall. There would be a lake here someday, Lorian thought. A real one.

Lorian moved towards the gates. Past the pile of bodies Wolnir's army had left as they passed through this place, Lorian could see his black knights and the swords of Carthus approaching. Lorian expected cheers. They were silent. Lorian gripped his burning sword.

Then he turned around. 

Lorian would never forget witnessing the Abyss, even at a distance. He moved up on the rocks and walked for a while along the rim, ostensibly, for reconnaissance. He could see Wolnir and his army no longer. A hush had fallen upon the land, as if sound was pulling pulled, subtly but inexorably, towards the depths. 

Dark blue. Darker than black.

Something vast had passed through here. Why had it chosen not to show itself to Lorian? Why had it left him behind? 

He looked upon the hole in the world and felt utterly debased.


	6. Chapter 6

 

"There are a few scragglers, perhaps," said the knight-captain to Lorian. "And your stray demon."

 

"The old king might still be in there somewhere," Fateh added. "We're not getting close enough to the Abyss to find out. Aside from that..." He paused. "I suppose you've done what you've came here to do. Congratulations, my prince."

 

"As Father Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight, would have asked," said Lorian. He had recited this line. Pictured saying it in excitement, to a loving crowd. He was going to be so humble, so bold. So sure of himself and of his holy blood. Now he wasn't even sure the people he was speaking to were paying attention.

 

"Speaking of the stray demon..." The knight-captain looked towards her. She had found something or another in the ruins. Looked like a statue of a spider. Maybe some twisted demon's corpse. She was standing before it, and had not moved in some time.

 

"Leave her."

 

"My liege - "

 

"Leave her. She may find her way back to Lothric, someday. Who knows?"

 

There was a silence among the three of them. Lorian thought the stray demon might have been saying a prayer. He took the ring off. He didn't want to understand.

 

"The Abyss is close," said the knight-captain. Those four words spoke volumes. It was time. Lorian knew it. 

 

No, he decided. He couldn't do it. Not now. Not in the days to come. He needed his brother.

 

"They don't think I'm fit to link the flame," said Lorian. "I've heard nothing from my father since my victory. The crows should have been there and back again by now."

 

The knight-captain was at a loss for words. "King Oceiros..." she began.

 

Lorian moved. The burning sword shifted in his lap, and he watched the knight-captain flinch. They were afraid of him now. He knew it. He knew they were whispering of his sword of fire, his armor, charred black. (Honestly, he imagined Lothric saying, it's been dyed that way forever. They could at least get their facts straight.)

 

Lorian left Fateh and the knight-captain and approached Yhorm.

 

"Yhorm," he said, "I need to ask a great favor of you."

 

Yhorm gave him that slow, familiar nod.

 

"Link the fire," Lorian said.

 

Yhorm was silent for a long time. Lorian almost repeated himself. Then:

_"A giant has never rekindled the flame."_

 

"It'll be fine," said Lorian. His voice was tired. "Yhorm, please." He hated himself for his obvious weakness. Act like a prince, he reminded himself. "Lord Yhorm, you are the strongest, bravest warrior I know. And the people of the conquered territories of Carthus," he continued, "have been asking you to take over some of their lands now that Wolnir and his army are gone, haven't they? They'll be the lands of a Lord of Cinder. The human beings will love you even more, then."

_"...I'll do as you wish. Wait for me. Look over my people, while I'm gone."_


	7. Chapter 7

 

They had chosen to take another route out of the area rather than pass back through the swamps. Lorian decided it was cowardice on his part as soon as they set on their way. If only he had let himself pass under the eyes of the Farron Legion! They'd have seen he was unscathed. 

 

Wasn't he?

 

He'd find some pretense to meet with the Abyss Watchers. He had a lot to say about what he had seen. Then he wouldn't be putting his knights at risk.

 

As soon as he saw Lothric once. He knew Lothric would have something to say to him, something about all this that would give Lorian the closure he needed. Prince Lorian hoped only for that day. Everything else happening around him had left him numb.

 

Lorian saw the great crow swoop down somewhere among his convoy. A few minutes later the knight-captain came up to him. She handed him a letter.

 

"...Prince Lothric will be joining us in Yhorm's capital," said Lorian, in surprise.

 

He felt a rush of - something. Emotions he hadn't let himself feel since before he set out to warm. Comfort. Relief. And then...something about this didn't feel right. Was something happening back in Lothric? The younger prince seemed eager to leave.

 

"Well! That'll be nice, considering he barely leaves the castle," said Lorian, dismissing the knight-captain. She smiled uneasily at his comment. "It's almost like the days of old," Lorian continued. "There are still people distantly related to the royal family in those lands. We'll have a proper noble society there and can build strong ties with Lord Yhorm."

"Siegward of Catarina told us they make up something of a priestly caste now," says the knight-captain.

 

"Now? Is that recent?"

 

"I wouldn't know. I'm yet unsure as to how the handmaidens interpret the will of the gods."

 

Time passed in a blur. The march was slow. They had brought a good deal of spoils out of the ruins, both for the glorification of Lothric and to help Yhorm's people rebuild. Lorian could think only of seeing his family again.

 

Prince Lothric arrived long before Lorian did. Fanfare, parade. Lorian and his knights were formally escorted down the bridge into the city by gargoyles, of all things. Tall women in masks - could they be those handmaidens Siegward spoke of? - joined the procession in silence. They were singing a hymn. 

 

Lothric rode out to meet him on a white horse. "They've been saying you've done something terrible," he whispered, in his ear. His voice was warm, playful, disbelieving. Lorian felt better instantly.

 

"I'll tell you all about it later. Is Gertrude here?"

 

"Our heavenly sister? Not to the best of my knowledge. No."

 

Lorian found this phrasing exceptionally strange, but he wanted to get out of his armor too badly to think about it much. He was attended by the handmaidens, who ferreted his armor away and gave him something soft to change into. Clean clothes - when was the last time he had that?

 

He noticed that they hadn't taken his blade.

 

"That's chaos flame," said the handmaiden, looking at it. (At least he thought she was looking at it. Lorian was at edge around the veiled women. In combat he was used to being able to see an opponent's eyes.) 

 

"Is it?" asked Lorian. "And what should you happen to know about that?"

 

"Nothing at all, my lord."

 

Lorian wasn't in the mood for this. "Please, go on. I'm curious to know what your faith teaches you here. I've heard tell that it's somewhat different from ours. You may speak freely. I'm interested as an educated man."

 

Prince Lothric's diction, somewhat.

 

The crone lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug. "We were told that the Witch of Izalith tried to rebirth the flame as it grew still. And it was tainted with humanity, with the Dark Soul, and became the Flame of Chaos, now long smothered. They called the Witch of Izalith the Mother of Demons because of that. Did you know they had one they called a mother before you erased them from the earth?"

 

Yes, indeed.

 

"This was the first I heard of the Dark Soul being involved," said Lorian.

 

The crone laughed.

 

Something about this was starting to come together for Lorian - but not quickly enough. Demons. Chaos. Fire. Humanity. His frail brother, half-accursed. The Dark Sign Gwyn had once left on the ranks of the wicked. And before all else the coming Abyss. What was all this trying to say to him? Why did it call? 

 

"We have something that may be of interest to you," said the crone. "And to your brother, who is a very curious young man, oh yes..."

 

At the mention of Lothric Lorian's hackles raised. He didn't want anyone like this woman to know him. He wished he could have ordered to her to forget even the sound of his voice.

 

"And what would that be?" Lorian asked.

 

The handmaiden gestured to Lorian to follow her. "The Lordvessel. A relic of the family of Lord Yhorm. Knights from Lothric - who have recently made contact with the old religion - recovered it from the giants when they discovered that the lord was indisposed. However, considering the friendship that you've forged between the races and nations, we've had it brought to his palace."

 

"...That can't be..."

 

It was ancient, for sure. It brimmed with fire. Lorian stared hard at it, trying to feel something. 

 

Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight, once touched that vessel, he told himself. Our forefather linked the flame...

 

"The corruption of humanity seeps into everything," the handmaiden sighed.

 

"Fine words coming from one who's almost human," Lorian snapped.

 

"Yes, I am almost a human being. And all of the people here do indeed bear human flesh. All I've known, all I've loved. Funny, that."

 

The Lordvessel was drawing a crowd. People were moving in silence into the hall, faces appearing here and there, some drawn and nervous, others curious. All were somber, as if headed to a mass. Lorian spotted Lothric on a palanquin.

 

Lorian asked the handmaiden why.

 

"It's said you can see a little echo of it in the Lordvessel, when it happens. We can sense it when it's close. They want to see Lord Yhorm link the flame."

 

"Why wasn't I told about this?"

 

"My lord," said the handmaiden, "you've barely just arrived."

 

Lorian thought he saw a flash of light. Then he heard a roar of flame, greater than any he had ever known.

 

Everything went dark. 

 

____

 

When Lorian regained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the smell. Pork flesh, he thought. Are they having a banquet...?

 

The marble beneath his cheek was warm. For a moment he thought he was in the ruins again. 

 

Then he remembered himself, and jerked awake.

 

The flame in the Lordvessel crackled fitfully, but aside from that there was no noise in the room. Only piles of charred and molten flesh. Lorian put his hand to his mouth. The fire had - 

 

\- What _had_ the fire done? They had been dressed in gold, carrying goblets, wearing jewels. All sorts of finery. But none of it had melted. The wood hadn't burnt.  

 

It had burnt flesh. The flame sought human flesh.

 

Then, suddenly and terribly, Lorian remembered his brother. 

 

"Lothric!" he called. "Lothric!" 

 

He found the palanquin. So many bodies had collapsed on top of it. He pulled his brother out of the wreckage, shoveling away handfuls of ash and molten fat.

 

"...Lothric..."

 

His brother was barely breathing. 

 

"Human flesh," he whispered. "It's all burning out of me. Look." He tried to raise his frail hands.

 

"You mean to die here." Lorian's heart was in his throat. "You didn't put them up to this, did you?"

 

Lothric's dry lips moved, but he didn't respond.

 

Lorian lay him down on the cooling floor. Then he lay beside him. He couldn't see the night sky in the haze.

 

"It wasn't my sword, was it?" he whispered. "So close to the holy flame?"

 

Lothric's head shook infinitesimally. He smiled at Lorian, a smile so like his mother's. No. 

 

"Please don't leave me," Lorian said. "Don't die like this."

 

Lothric took in a labored breath. There might have been tears in his eyes. He seemed to think.

 

"...I didn't want to risk you...not you...no..."

 

"Brother - "

 

"You're not strong enough for what's happening in Lothric. Not on your own."

 

"I know."

 

"So give me your strength," Lothric told him. He reached for his hand. "Lend your flesh to mine, and share in my curse."

 

Lorian took his hand and gripped it tight.

 

"Don't be afraid," Lothric told him.


End file.
